


Saltwater

by Em_Jaye



Series: Sparks of Light [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cunnilingus, F/M, Have I mentioned the smut, Nomad Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, POV Darcy Lewis, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: It takes Darcy two months to use the phone Steve left for her.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Series: Sparks of Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696234
Comments: 219
Kudos: 440





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsEnglish101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsEnglish101/gifts), [kattabaker (katttewks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katttewks/gifts).



> I promised you all a smutty sequel and you're getting all the energy I should probably be putting into something else. If you haven't read "Seven Hundred and Eight Dollars" I do recommend it, just for some reference. Gifting this to Ms English as well because the original was her birthday gift and I love her the end. ❤️
> 
> **Edit: Gifting chapter two to Kattabaker as it was her birthday as well and as I have no way of knowing these things until someone tells me, and no other way to express how much I love these wonderful people who always comment on my work. But I *do* love them. A lot.

It took him a month to send her the phone with his number stored in it.

It takes another two months for her to use it.

By the time she does, she’s talked herself out of it half a million times. She doesn’t think he’ll answer. She isn’t even sure what she’ll say if he does. The time they’d spent together had been so fast, their connection burned like a sparkler in her memory: bright and brilliant, but over just as quickly. Only a few hours that had managed to change her life. There are times she can’t even be sure it had happened at all.

Only it must have happened, because she’s staring at his name in the phone he’d given her and she’s pressing the little green button before she can talk herself out of it again.

“Hi.”

He answers on the second ring. The sound of his voice crashes into her with a force that might have knocked her over if she’d been standing. Every last second she’d spent with him before comes rushing back in vibrant detail and she’s suddenly desperate to see him again. She clears her throat. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

The question surprises her for a moment before she realizes that’s probably how he starts all his conversations. The three months that have passed haven’t changed his position on the top of INTERPOL’s most-wanted list. “Yeah, I’m good,” she says before she bites back a smile. “I’m—uh—I’m looking at the ocean, actually.”

Three blocks from the little cottage she’s renting, the road crumbles into sand and scrub grass and the line of papelillo trees part like a curtain for the sparkling blue-green water.

She thinks she hears him smile back. “Which one?”

“The Pacific.”

“That’s a good one.”

She wants to ask where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s okay. But she doesn’t think he’ll be able to answer any of those questions, at least not over the phone. Her fingers twirl her hair nervously, trying to summon her courage to ask for what she wants. “It’s beautiful,” she agrees softly. “Wish you could see it.”

There’s only a slight pause. “I could…if you wanted me to.”

It’s all she wants. She wants to see him again, to feel his lips on hers and his arms around her again; to give him a place to feel safe for a minute, to not have to worry about glancing over his shoulder every second. Out loud—afraid that admitting all of that about a man she hardly knew would sound exactly as insane as it is—she says, “I’d like that.”

“Okay then,” he says, as if him coming to see her is going to be as easy as picking up a gallon of milk on the way home from work. “Might take me a few days, but I’ll be there.”

She frowns. “Don’t you need to know where _there_ is before you go promising something like that?”

“No, I got it,” he says smoothly. “There’s a tracking device in the phone I gave you,” he said before she can ask how. “I didn’t want to turn it on without your permission though,” he goes on, neutralizing her indignation at the idea of him keeping tabs on her without her knowledge. “So…if it’s okay with you…” he adds slowly, sounding hesitant again.

“Oh,” she coughs again. “Yeah. You can—track me—I guess?” _Whatever_ , she wants to say. _As long as I get to see you again_.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “One-time thing,” he promised.

“I hope not,” she blurts before she can stop herself.

There’s another pause from Steve’s end of the line, and she’s sure he’s smiling this time. That soft, shy smile she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about. “I’ll see you in a few days, Darcy.”

At his request, she destroys the phone as soon as she gets home. As soon as it’s in pieces, she wishes she hadn’t. What if he _didn’t_ know where she was? What if something went wrong with his tech and his coordinates were off and he couldn’t find her? How long was a few days? How long until she should start worrying? What if something happened to him on his way to see her? How would she even know?

The questions keep her tossing and turning and wishing she had a distraction to fill her days. But she has nothing to do until September, when she starts her job as a technology coordinator at the nearby private high school. She’d been worried her slow, choppy Spanish might be too much of a deterrent to finding work in Mazatlán, Mexico, but she’d lucked out. The man who hired her assured her that his students had been in English immersion programs their whole lives; he’d been sweet enough to promise that her Spanish would improve the longer she stayed in town. “The students will forget you’re a gringa in no time,” he’d laughed. He had kind eyes, thick silver hair, and a welcoming demeanor that reminded her a little of her grandfather.

He’d also put her on payroll already so she would have a little to live on while she waited for the school year to begin. Enough to pay her rent, fill her refrigerator, and start decorating her little one-bedroom apartment. It had come furnished with the basics, but it’s taken a month of trips to the weekend markets, little touches here and there, for it to finally start to feel like hers.

But it’s not enough to keep her busy. Occupied, yes. But not busy. Not busy enough to distract her from the questions she can’t get answered, from the way she’s feeling—some mix of anxiety and excitement—at the prospect of seeing Steve again. The worries she can’t share with anyone else. The fear that she’d put him in danger by calling him.

She still goes to the beach to watch the sunset every night. The dark orange and bright pink bounces off the clouds and settles her mind for a few minutes, and when the water turns purple in the falling light, she feels like she can breathe again.

That’s where he finds her, four nights after she destroys her phone. She thought it might be weird—at the very least awkward—to see him again, but it isn’t. As soon as she sees his silhouette outlined against the shore, it’s like he’s always been there. Like he belongs there, in that little town with her, sitting at her kitchen table, laughing at her dumb jokes and stories about the people she’d encountered between Texas and Mexico, taking up just the right amount of room so that her little cottage doesn’t feel quite so empty.

“I’m a terrible host,” she says mildly after she’s glanced at the clock. She sucks a drop of lime juice from her thumb as the wedge she’d shoved down the neck of her beer bottle fizzes in the golden liquid. “I didn’t even ask—are you hungry? Can I make you something?”

Steve shakes his head. His hair is longer than it had been the last time she saw him. Blonder at the roots too, as if he’d colored it once and then decided to grow it out. “No,” he assures her, his fingers drumming absently on his own beer bottle. “I’m good, thanks.”

It’s late. Later than she’d thought, closer to midnight. The conversation had been just easy enough that she’d forgotten she doesn’t know anything about his arrangements other than he had to be in Guadalajara in seventy-two hours. She has no idea how he’d gotten to her. Where he’d been coming from. Where he was _staying_.

“Will you stay here?” she blurts out the question before she even realizes it. Darcy resists the urge to clap her hand over her eyes in embarrassment. She’d meant to ask her questions in the right order. Is everyone on your team okay? How did you get here? _Do_ you have somewhere to stay—

Steve blinks and looks almost shy for a moment. “Here?” he repeats with a quick glance around the living and dining room.

She nods and forces herself to backtrack. “If you don’t have…” she coughs. “I mean, if you’re already set up somewhere else—”

But he’s shaking his head again. “No, I’m…uh. Here is…good.”

She smiles. “You sure?” she asks, unable to resist the urge to tease him a little. “You don’t sound sold on the idea.”

The way his ears turn pink doesn’t quite fit the image of the hardened fugitive the government wanted the world to believe he was. “No, I am,” he admits. “I just didn’t want to presume.”

Darcy reaches over and touches his arm. “Then I’m glad I asked,” she says quietly. “I want you to stay, Steve.” Her teeth press down into her bottom lip when he lifts his eyes to hers again. “I, um,” she pauses and laughs lightly at herself. “I missed you.”

But if Steve thinks her confession is stupid or crazy or the ramblings of a girl with a dangerously strong crush, nothing in his face reflects that. His other hand comes up to curl around hers, his thumb stroking her palm slowly. “I missed you too.”

A voice in the back of her mind is telling her should say something else, something that would diffuse the sudden tension. But her voice is caught somewhere in her throat that’s run dry and when she opens her mouth to try to speak, Steve leans forward, canceling the space between them, and kisses her.

Darcy’s been thinking about the kiss they’d shared inside the T-rex, just before dawn. She’s been telling herself it wasn’t as good as she remembered; that loneliness and time had colored the memory into something to keep her warm at night. But _this_ kiss is exactly as good as she remembers. Better, even, because she’s sure it’s not going to be the only one she’ll ever have.

Steve’s hand is warm and calloused as it comes up to hold her face gently, as though she’s something delicate he doesn’t want to break. His lips are softer than she expects, and they fit against hers in a kiss that’s slow and hungry and somehow hesitant—like he’s expecting her to pull away at any second.

Only she doesn’t pull away first. He does, staring at her in the dull light from the kitchen, close enough to count his impossibly long eyelashes and catch the flecks of green in his blue eyes. She’s breathing more heavily than she wants to and she knows she should stay where she is and suggest they go slow. Talk more. Get to know each other. Do something other than running headfirst off this beautiful cliff, hoping something catches her on the way down.

But then her hands are reaching for his face, combing into his hair, pulling his lips back to hers. And he’s dragging her out of her chair and onto his lap, his short nails raking over her thighs before his palms flatten over her back, pulling her harder against him. His tongue slips between her lips as desire pools like liquid fire in her belly and she can already feel his erection straining between their layers of clothing. She lets out a soft moan around his tongue, rewarding him with another when his hands move between them to squeeze her breasts.

It’s too hot, suddenly. The air in the kitchen sweltering as she tries to rid herself of as much as she can without getting up. She breaks away from his lips, panting, and pulls her light sweater and the tank top beneath it up and over her head. Without ceremony, she reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, Steve’s fingers slipping beneath the straps to slide it down her arms and toss it aside before she can do it herself. His lips and hands return with fervor, palms and fingertips skating over every inch of newly revealed flesh while he presses open-mouthed kisses to her neck and throat and collarbones, slowly working his way down her body.

She arches back into the table when his lips seal around her nipple, his fingers playing gently with the other while he sucks and flicks one hardened peak with his tongue. He switches sides and Darcy’s nails slide back into his hair, wanting to keep him there as long as possible. Her thighs are squeezing his hips, clenching on nothing when she feels his hands drift down her sides to the button of her shorts.

His eyes are dark when he raises them to hers and she feels herself nodding quickly, desperate for him to keep undressing her. She’s about to pull away, force herself to stand up and shimmy out of the rest of her clothes, but Steve grabs hold of her hips and pushes her up, sliding her back against the table until he’s standing over her and all she has to do is lift her hips and she’s completely naked beneath him.

When he bends down to kiss her, it’s slow and languid and she’s panting eagerly, pawing at his clothes while he strokes his tongue against hers like they have all the time in the world. He brushes her hands away when she tries to undress him, and his fingers trail lightly, teasingly down her body. Over her collarbones and around each stiffened nipple before sliding down her belly and stopping just below her navel.

She whines and her hips buck off the table. Steve pulls back from her kiss with a soft smile. “You’re cute when you’re impatient,” he says, his voice a hushed whisper, close to her lips. “But we don’t have to rush right now,” he goes on as she closes her eyes and tries to steady her breathing. His lips brush hers again softly. “Will it kill you if I take my time?”

Her throat bobs when she swallows, trying to catch her breath. He’s close enough to kiss again when she opens her eyes and Darcy’s convinced she’s never been this close to anyone more beautiful in her life. Since he won’t let her attack his buttons or belt buckle, she settles for raking her hands up into his hair again while she pulls him down for another kiss. “Just don’t tease me,” she says finally when they part.

Steve shakes his head, his nose brushing hers. “I won’t,” he says like a promise. She believes him. His lips slide into another half-smile. “Unless you ask me to.”

“Not right now,” she breathes, feeling a little less like she might shatter under the weight of the tension between them.

When Steve touches her again, he doesn’t linger on her lips. He trails light, barely-there kisses along her neck and down her chest. He sucks a nipple between his lips again and she arches into him with a hiss of satisfaction when she feels a graze of his teeth. He repeats on the other side, but just as she’s about to wrap her legs around him and demand he keep doing that, his kisses return soft and light to the valley between her breasts and continue down her stomach.

She hears him shove the chair back the moment before he gets to his knees and wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her open, spreading her fully. There’s no hiding how badly she wants him, how _fucking desperate_ he’s made her in just a few minutes, even if she wanted to. His big, rough hands hold her hips down and his eyes lock with hers for a long, charged moment.

She can feel his breath hot against her until his eyes close and she feels his tongue slide into her and every thought in her head short-circuits.

He circles her clit only once before he pulls back and glances back up at her. “Tell me what you like,” he says, kissing her belly, just below her navel.

It takes her a moment to realize he’d making a request. “I…” her mouth gapes uselessly.

Steve kisses her again. “All I know is that you don’t want to me to tease you,” he scrapes short nails along her skin and a chill runs down her spine. “I want you to tell me what you _like,”_ he says and waits another moment before drops his head when she doesn’t say anything. He flattens his tongue against her, and her fingers go into his hair, the only sound she can make is a moan she desperately tries to muffle between her lips. She feels him moan against her when her nails scrape his scalp and he circles her clit again.

“I like that; keep doing that,” she breathes finally, finding her voice again. Steve hums in appreciation and it sends another buzz of pleasure through her limbs. Her head drops back when he dips into her again—his tongue is hot and wet and she forces herself to focus on the ceiling and not listen to the pornographic sounds he’s dragging from her throat.

She almost screams when he stops abruptly and turns his head to drop a kiss at her inner thigh. “What else?” he asks, almost passing for innocent despite the fact that his beard is wet with her arousal. His teeth scrape her skin as he releases his hold on one of her legs. She can feel the tips of two thick fingers at her entrance. Steve nips at her thigh again when she squirms. “What else do you want, Darcy?”

She’s clenching on nothing and practically sobs in relief when he returns to her throbbing clit. “Put your fingers inside me,” she says around a sharp inhale. He complies before the words are out of her mouth and he sucks on her clit, his fingers move hard and fast until she’s panting, and her back is bowing off the table. Her hands are in his hair again, afraid he’ll pull away again, but he doesn’t. Not until she comes so hard stars burst behind her eyes and she’s reduced to a boneless, laughing mess around his fingers.

When he finally relents, she can hardly see straight, but she watches him pull his shirt off, wiping at his mouth before he drops it to the floor with her clothes and hovers over her, a half-smile on his face. She pulls him in for a kiss, relishing the taste of herself that she finds on his lips. “What do _you_ want, Steve?” she asks softly, when she lets him go.

Her thumb drifts over his plush bottom lip and he kisses it before he says. “I wanna fuck you on this table.”

Darcy can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips. She feels drunk and silly and more relaxed than she’s been in months. “Okay,” she says immediately and reaches for his belt. It’s a struggle to sit up and she feels a wave of dizziness when she finally can. But then Steve is kissing her again and he’s letting her unbuckle his belt while he pulls a condom from his pocket before she can even ask. Her hands are the greedy ones now and she’s slipping them beneath his pants and boxer-briefs to stroke his cock. She swallows the groans he’s trying to suppress when she wraps her hand around him, pumping slowly before she can’t wait anymore and shoves his remaining layers down his legs for him to kick aside.

She waits for him to roll the condom on before she flips over and lets Steve push her down flat. His hands tangle in her hair, pulling on it and making her groan before he drags his fingers down her spine and grips her hips again. She feels him at her entrance and she hisses with satisfaction when he sinks in with a few shallow thrusts before finally he’s fully seated inside her.

“Fuck,” she grinds the word through her teeth and feels Steve loosen his grip. “No, keep going,” she insists, shaking her head. “You just feel so fucking good.”

She thinks she hears him smile before he bends forward, driving his cock deeper with a soft groan and places a kiss between her shoulder blades. “So do you,” he murmurs against her skin. Then he takes hold of her hips again and straightens, pulling out halfway before he thrusts again and starts moving faster. His pace is quick, his hips snap against hers while his fingers dig into her skin, pulling her back against him, dragging his cock just right to make her cry out in pleasure.

It’s a jolt when he pushes her legs further apart and finds her clit again. Darcy lets out something that sounds like a whimper when he matches the pressure of his fingers with how hard he’s slamming into her. Her second orgasm has her digging her nails into the sides of the table, holding on while he fucks her through it.

She can do little more than make a sound of confusion when he stops and pulls out, leaving her feeling stretched and empty for a moment before she realizes his hands are under her and he’s turning her over onto her back. He pulls her legs up, resting her ankles on his shoulders as he slides back in with a sound of relief. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is disheveled from where she’s had her hands in it. He looks wrecked as he takes hold of her and resumes his pace. She prefers this view, she decides, too wrung out with pleasure to do more than watch him fuck her. She watches the planes of his stomach crunch and his chest rise and fall when he speeds up. It’s not too long before his rhythm falters and his hips jerk hard against her one more time before he slows and rocks gently into her as his cock throbs and spills into the condom.

She makes another sound when he pulls out again to get rid of the condom and she’s still not feeling entirely coherent by the time he returns. Luckily, she doesn’t have to say much because Steve scoops her up like she weighs nothing before she can make herself sit upright. He kisses her gently—much more gently than she’d expect from a man who just bent her over her kitchen table and fucked her senseless—and when he smiles, it’s soft again. Almost shy. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“Hallway,” she points vaguely toward the back of the house. “Door on the right.”

Her room is a mess because she didn’t think she’d be having company. Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He sets her down and returns to the kitchen to collect their clothes while she cleans herself up in the bathroom. By the time she comes out, he’s pulling back her sheets and blankets and there’s a glass of water on her bedside table. “Thank you,” she says, collapsing into the covers.

He climbs in beside her and she waits until he’s turned off the lights before she cuddles into him. It should be weird, she thinks drowsily, as his arms go around her. It should be weird and awkward falling asleep with a stranger, but it isn’t. Her head fits beneath his chin and she can hear his steady heartbeat beneath her ear. She falls asleep too fast, hoping he’ll still be there when she wakes up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love for the first chapter, ships! <3 <3 <3 <3

Darcy wakes up earlier than usual. Steve is not only still there, but he’s still asleep beside her. She rolls to her side and props her head up on her hand to study him in the silvery morning light. He sleeps on his back, his lips parted enough for his breath to make soft _whoosh_ ing sounds when he exhales. She can see how long and thick his eyelashes are, spot the red and brown hairs mixed with the blonde in his beard. His brow furrows and his lips purse before they dip downward in a frown. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and dusty with sleep. His eyes are still closed.

She grins. “Studying.”

“Mmm,” he hums his understanding and his eyes open slowly. A flutter of lashes before they crinkle at the sides with a sleepy smile when they land on her. “See anything interesting?”

“A few things,” she says as he rolls to his side and drops a heavy arm around her.

“Good morning,” he says quietly before he places a sweet kiss on her lips.

“Best one I’ve had for a while,” she admits, more than happy to snuggle in closer to him.

“Me too,” he kisses her again and the corner of his lips slide upward. “Wouldn’t be opposed to making it better, though.”

Darcy bites back a smile and slides against him, hitching her leg up and over his hip, about to meet him for another kiss when her thoughts are interrupted by the loud, rumbling groan from his stomach. She can’t help the way she dissolves into giggles as his cheeks flush pink. “With breakfast?”

Steve laughs softly and wrinkles his nose. “Apparently all parts of my body are not on the same page when it comes to what makes a morning better.”

She snickers and brushes her lips to his. “I’m pretty hungry too,” she admits softly before she props herself up on one hand again and lets him push her messy hair back from her face. “What do you want to do today?”

Steve’s fingers linger in her hair, his thumb brushes along her cheek. “Will you show me around?” he asks quietly. “I want to see what your life is like.”

She isn’t expecting the way his request makes her want to blush. Considering everything that had happened the night before, it feels strange that something as simple as a tour through the neighborhood could feel somehow more intimate, but it does. More intimate than the request is the way she wants to oblige. Show him around, introduce him to her life here, show him there’d be a place for him if he could stay.

Still, Darcy bites her lip again. “Is that…” she pauses before she goes on. “Safe?” She doesn’t want to ask and break this happy, sunlit bubble, but she can’t pretend it isn’t on her mind. “I don’t want you to get caught.”

“No one’s looking for me here,” he says with such certainty that she decides to believe him. “I’ve got plenty in place to keep Ross’ guys away from here—” it’s his turn to pause as he brushes her cheek again. “From you.”

She wants to ask what he means by that, or at least say she doesn’t need him to worry about protecting her—that she can take care of herself—but she has the feeling that protecting herself from the CIA is a lot different than protecting herself from lonely men with wandering hands at a truck stop. So, she doesn’t say anything, just kisses him again.

They eat breakfast at her favorite place where the owner, Rosa, greets her like an old friend and doesn’t mind that they’ve just barely brushed their hair and teeth before wandering into her café. She catches the way Steve’s fingers are entangled with Darcy’s and gives her a grin before she nudges her and asks in a low voice, “ _El tiene un hermano?_ ”

Afterwards they walk to the school and Darcy shows him where she’ll be teaching in September, then the row of shops where she gets her essentials and she points out the workshop of the ceramicist who told her to come by in a week and learn how to throw pots. She’s worried she might be boring him, but Steve is following with interest. He seems genuinely curious about her life here, asks all kinds of questions, laughs at all her stupid jokes and commentary. 

“There’s a festival a few hours north that I was planning on going to,” she says as they wander back to her house. She pulls her keys from the pocket of her shorts. “Some feast day for a saint, I think, but I don’t think we’ll have to go to church or anything.”

Steve smiles again. “Sounds like fun.”

It is fun. It’s a two hour drive up the coast in fair weather before the morning fog burns off and the sky stretches out wide and blue and cloudless. Darcy tells him to pick whatever he wants from her thick binder of CDs and he surprises her with Fleetwood Mac. He’s smiling when she looks over. “Not what you thought I’d pick?”

“Not even close,” she admits as the wind whips at her hair through the open windows. “Had you pegged for a Steve Miller kinda guy.”

“Well, once I found out he and Glenn were nothing alike—”

Darcy snorts and shakes her head. “Okay, so no Steve Miller,” she relents. “But what other kind of music do you like?”

Her focus is back on the road, but she sees him shrug from the corner of her eye. “I don’t know. There’s so much more to choose from now—kind of depends on what I’m doing.”

“Top five,” she insists. “If you had to pick.”

He blows a breath through his lips and pushes back his hair. “Uh…well, I really do like Fleetwood Mac.”

“Okay.”

“And Queen.”

“Only really proving that you’re a human being with ears.”

He grins and goes on. “Um…The Clash.”

“Rock on,” she nods.

“Sort of out from left field, but, Sam Smith.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” she agrees. “He’s got some sexy soulful stuff that takes you off guard.”

“Yeah,” Steve shakes his head. “Kinda…made me feel some stuff I didn’t know I was repressing.”

She can’t help the choked laugh she lets out. “Only some stuff?”

Steve is still grinning when she looks over again. “There’s lot to unpack there.”

“You still owe me one more band,” she reminds him, wanting to keep the mood light. It’s not that she doesn’t _want_ to hear about all the things Sam Smith might have made him cry about—in fact, it surprises her how much she _does—_ but not right then. Not with the sweet ocean air whipping between them and Stevie crooning through the speakers and Steve’s eyes on her the whole time he talks.

He runs a hand over his face. “You’re probably going to laugh,” he says carefully. “And it’s not like…this isn’t a ranking,” he adds quickly. “This is in no way my number one.”

“Stop making excuses,” she laughs. “Who is it?”

His face scrunches like he’s already regretting telling her. “NWA?”

Darcy nearly drives off the road. “ _What?”_

“Not what you were expecting?” he laughs.

“Not in a _million_ years!” she exclaims. “You listen to _NWA?_ ” she repeats. “The one with Ice Cube and Eazy E and Dr. Dre? _That_ NWA?”

“And DJ Yella and MC Ren—”

“Oh my God,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Oh my fucking God. You’re not a real person,” she decides. “I made you up. This is a computer game.”

Steve’s laughter bounces out his open window and back into hers and Darcy decides it’s her new favorite sound.

They spend the day with their fingers intwined, surrounded by bright colors and happy people, music and food and sunshine. The lively tunes the bands have been playing all day slow down as the sun begins to set. Darcy pulls Steve up out of the chairs they’d snagged for dinner and leads him over to where a few other couples are moving in the pink, falling sunlight.

Steve doesn’t protest and slides his hand to her lower back, enveloping her other hand in his. “Fair warning,” he says with a smile. “I don’t do this very often.”

Darcy smiles back. “Not much time for dancing these days?”

“It’s a surprisingly packed schedule,” he replies mildly.

With the hand she’s draped over his shoulders, Darcy scratches her nails against his hair. “Sounds like you just need to adjust your priorities.”

“That right?” he asks swaying along to the music just fine for someone who claimed to be out of practice.

She nods. “You’re supposed to be some ultimate, dangerous criminal, aren’t you?” she lifts her eyebrows. “A life of crime without dancing is hardly a life of crime at all.”

Steve nods with understanding, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I guess I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.”

She moves a shoulder. “Guess so.”

“Good thing I met you,” he says softly, the trace of teasing gone from his voice.

Darcy tilts her chin up. “Good thing,” she agrees.

When Steve kisses her, he tastes like salt and lime and sunshine and she wishes she could keep him on her lips forever.

It’s late when she checks the clock above her fireplace. She should be more tired, she thinks, as she reaches for what’s left of her drink. A few tequila and tonic soaked ice cubes rattle in her glass. But she’s not tired. She wants to sit up with Steve, swapping stories and making each other laugh the way they have been for the last few hours.

He’s told her about Sam and Wanda and Natasha. About Bucky, safe and healing in a place he can’t mention. She can tell he’s keeping it light for her benefit. Only telling the funnier stories. Not touching the reality of his situation—the bleak outlook if something doesn’t change within the US government soon. But then he asks a question she isn’t expecting.

“Why’d you leave London?”

She blinks and shakes her head with a little laugh. “I told you,” she reminds him lightly. “I had…y’know…food to eat and people to fall in love with…no big mystery.”

“Was that always the plan?” he asks, seemingly not satisfied with her answer. “Or did something happen that made you want to go?”

“Oh,” she pauses and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I—uh—” she laughs lightly again and shakes her head a second time. “I have a fear of settling,” she admits finally. “An unpleasant side effect of having adventure in your veins.”

He nods slowly. “Settling _down_ or settling _for_ something?”

“For,” she says after a moment of consideration. “I think.”

Steve’s arm is draped along the back of the couch, his fingers nearly brushing hers. “And…staying in London, after having saved the world twice,” he asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “That sounds like settling to you?”

“I didn’t save the world,” she argues lightly, rolling her eyes with a lingering smile. “I just…y’know…helped. And it wasn’t the situation that felt like settling,” she goes on before he can ask another probing question. “It was a person.”

“Ah.”

“His name was Ian,” she continues, unsure if Steve wants to hear this. But he doesn’t stop her, doesn’t look like he wishes he hadn’t asked. “He was…very nice.”

Steve grimaces. “Yikes.”

She snorts. “No, he was, really,” she insists. Because Ian _had_ been very nice. “He was stable and normal and sweet and…” she blew her breath through her pursed lips. “All the things normal girls want, supposedly.”

“Supposedly,” Steve repeats lightly.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I was there and he was there, and Jane and Thor went back to New York and Erik left to go home to Sweden and I thought, sure. I can do this. I can be a nice, normal woman with a nice, normal boyfriend and a job and…” she moves her shoulder a second time before she bites her lip. “You’re going to think I’m crazy if I tell you the real reason I left.”

“Something tells me it’s not just ‘cause Ian kept his socks on while you were having sex,” Steve comments before he sips at his glass.

Darcy feels her eyes widen and she lets out a dramatic gasp. “How did you know that?”

He laughs. “Lucky guess.” His finger crawl the extra inch to lace with hers. “I won’t think you’re crazy,” he promises softly.

“I…um…” she coughs. “I was in Brighton for the day and I went to the pier just to look at the lights and people-watch. And as I was passing this fortune teller’s tent, I tripped and fell and had to retie my shoe. The woman was in with a customer, but it was just a flimsy tent so I could hear her just fine and she said the weirdest thing.” She glances down because when she thinks about it, it’s a little ridiculous that this was the moment that changed her life, that kick-started her adventurous spirit again, blew breath back into her wild and restless heart.

“What was it?” Steve asks, looking intrigued.

“This woman was asking her how she could be sure she was marrying the right guy—which, like,” she frowns, “I feel like if you have to go to a fortune teller, you probably already have the answer, right?”

He smiles. “Kinda what I was thinking.”

“Anyway, the fortune teller says, ‘When you look into the eyes of your soulmate, you can see all the generations you’re going to create.’” Her teeth press into her bottom lip again. “I don’t know what it was about that that shook me up,” she admits. “I don’t even believe in—” she cuts herself off. “Anyway, the next time I saw Ian, I looked into his eyes and…” she exhales. “I couldn’t even see until next Thursday.” There’s something keeping her looking downcast, staring at the little nubs of melted ice in her glass even though she can hear Steve’s laugh from the other side of the couch.

Because she _doesn’t_ believe in fortune tellers or soulmates. But she doesn’t want to look up at Steve. She’s afraid of what she might see in his face. What he might see in hers. She’s afraid of what’s happened that has made the air in the room so much heavier, the space between them crackle with so much energy.

“So, I took that as a sign,” she shrugs again, trying to keep her voice light before she throws back what’s left of her ice cubes. There’s not even enough to crunch; they slide easily down her suddenly parched throat. “I didn’t know what I wanted or where I was supposed to be but…”

Steve’s fingers curl around hers; a little tentative, like he’s afraid she’s about to pull away. “It wasn’t there?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says quietly as a dark, messy curl slips from behind her ear and into her face. “Not there.”

When she finally does look up, it’s because Steve has set his glass aside and slid across the couch to push her hair back for her. His finger trail down the edge of her ear before he tilts her chin up. “C’mere,” he says softly.

He brings his lips to hers and her empty glass falls from her hand. It lands on the floor with a soft _thud_ she barely registers. It’s a long, slow kiss that warms her whole body in a way that has nothing to do with the summer air or the tequila she’d been sipping. Her arms go around him, her fingers threading into his hair as his hands span her back and pull her against him.

He groans into her mouth when she slips her tongue between his lips. Her sundress bunches up around her hips when she climbs into his lap. His hands are drifting over the ruffles of the skirt and she feels him smile when he finally moves enough material to sink his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs. She pulls away for a breath, tilting her head to one side for him to kiss her neck and sucks in a sharp inhale when he kisses his way over to her ear and clutches her earlobe between his teeth before he flicks it with his tongue.

His fingers are well beneath her skirt, playing with the waistband of her panties. “You can take them off,” she breathes seconds before the silk and lace tears with a clench of his fist. Darcy giggles as a thrill slides up her spine. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Steve looks up from the kisses he’s planting along her collarbone with an almost guilty smile. “I’ll buy you a new pair,” he promises before he tosses the shredded material aside.

She expects him to touch her—desperately wants him to touch her—to slide his calloused fingers between her thighs and deliver some relief to the driving need there. But he doesn’t, he grips her hips harder and stands up from the couch. Her legs and arms tighten instinctively around him, and his hands stay firm on her ass, holding her safely against him.

She likes that he doesn’t have to ask where her bedroom is this time. It leaves her free to kiss his neck while he walks them to the back of her house, to feel his pulse steady beneath her tongue and hear the way he groans when she scrapes her teeth over the vein that runs beneath his ear.

He makes it to her room and drops them both down on the edge of her bed. Almost immediately, he's pushing her dress up until she leans away from him to lift her arms so he can pull it over her head. She’s glad he doesn’t rip that one—it’s one of her favorites. He tosses it aside and lets her work on the buttons of his shirt before he shrugs out of it. The t-shirt he wears beneath it follows close behind and she spreads her fingers wide to roam over his warm, sculpted shoulders and arms. The feeling of his skin against hers is intoxicating. She lets him fumble with the clasp of her bra for a few long seconds before she reaches behind and pops it herself. He slides the straps down her arms and drops it to the ground.

His hands reach up to hold her face, pushing her hair back. “You’re so beautiful,” he says softly as he brushes his thumb over her lips. He kisses her slowly, savoring her like she’s something delicious. Her hips rock over his while he grows hard against her and she drags her fingers down his chest to pop the button of his pants.

Steve makes a sound of protest when she pulls back from his kiss before he realizes she’s only stepping back to remove the last of the barriers between them. When he’s naked and reaching for her again, Darcy sinks to her knees between his and licks her lips. She gives him a few strokes with her hand before she lifts her eyes to his. “Is this okay?”

He chokes out something that sounds like a yes while he nods and she leans in to swirl her tongue around the tip of his cock, giving it a delicate flick before she wets her lips again and wraps them around the head, letting her tongue slide against him. Her hand takes care of what won’t fit in her mouth and Steve shifts and groans above her.

She glances up and sees his fingers gripping the edge of her bed, alternating between going to reach for her and fisting in her bedspread. She comes off him with a soft, wet sound and reaches for his hands. “Put them in my hair,” she says softly, feeding his fingers into her curls when he still seems unsure. She gives him another teasing lick before she adds, “Don’t be afraid to show me what you like.”

He does show her. When she turns her head to the side and suckles her way up his length with open mouthed kisses and teasing flicks of her tongue until she reaches the tip again and takes him as deep as she can, his hands tighten in her hair. He groans while she’s dragging her tongue along the underside of his dick, directing her with another tug on her curls until she starts to bob while her hand is sliding to pump him into her mouth. He’s trying so hard to smother his moaning between his lips, Darcy’s almost worried he’ll draw blood.

His thighs are quaking the moment before he slides his hands from her hair and pulls her up, off him entirely. She sits back on her heels, licking at her lips while she gets back to her feet, allowing him to tug her back in so she’s standing between his knees, his hands on her hips. She pushes her hand through his hair while his fingers trail softly down her thighs. “You don’t want to come?” she asks when he laces their hands together, stopping her fingers from wrapping around his cock again.

“Not like that,” he says, shaking his head. “Not before you do.”

Before Darcy can respond, Steve tugs her forward, toward him, rolling them both onto the bed so he’s above her. He keeps their hands laced while he pulls her hands above her head and then drags his down her body, pausing to squeeze her breasts and roll her nipples between his fingers. When he moves lower and finally slides the tips of his fingers between her slick folds, he sucks an inhale between his teeth.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, a quiet demand, his eyes never leaving hers.

She rolls her hips against his hand and almost sighs in relief when he begins to circle her clit. “I want you—” she breathes. “I want you inside me.”

She stops herself from saying she wants him to fuck her because that doesn’t feel like what they’re doing anymore. None of this feels like the giddy rush it was the night before. This is slow and deliberate and feels like a lot more than she’s willing to admit. 

He’s mercifully quick to slide a condom on before he gathers her into his arms and pulls her down onto his cock. She works her way down slowly, inch by inch, until he can’t pull her any closer. His fingers are tracing long soothing strokes up her spine while she adjusts to the feeling of being stretched and full again, her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath. Her forehead falls against his and she runs her thumb over his cheek, meeting his eyes in the dark of her room. “I think you’re beautiful, too,” she says softly.

Steve kisses her then, one hand sliding up into her hair, the other sliding lower, to anchor at her hip. There’s something raw and honest in this kiss, something that brings an unexpected rush of emotion to her throat. “Darcy, I—”

His words die with a groan when she lifts her hips and sinks down again. Her lips are on his as she finds an easy rhythm, rolling her hips while he thrusts up, dragging against her just right. He kisses his way over to her neck again, sucking on the pulse throbbing beneath her ear. She threads her fingers up and into his hair again, keeping him there, relishing his tongue against her skin. She presses her lips together, muffling a moan into a whimper when his hand slips between them.

“Harder,” she breathes into his hair and he stiffens his fingers, pressing down as he circles her clit while his hips snap up, thrusting deeper. It’s only a few more strokes before her orgasm snakes up her spine and she comes with a cry. She falls against him, folding her arms around his shoulders while he slows his thrusts and presses kisses into her hair and her temple.

He’s still inside her when he lays her down amidst the soft sheets and pillows. His lips find hers again in a long, slow kiss as her legs wrap around his waist. She hooks her ankles at the small of his back and tilts her hips up, bringing him deeper on his next thrust. He groans and takes her hands in his, pulling them up above her head, pinning her to the pillows. She’s expecting him to speed up, chase his own release, but he doesn’t. His movements are as slow and measured as his kisses.

She feels lightheaded, dizzy with pleasure and like she’s falling, sinking into the dark and the sheets and the weight of Steve on top of her. But then he grasps both her wrists in one of his hands and takes hold of her face. “Look at me, Darcy,” he says, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until she opens them into his. Wide and honest and full of everything she’d been looking for and everything she’d been running from all at once. And she’s back. Back in her body. Back with him. Back where she belongs.

She lifts her hips again and again, meeting his thrusts and biting her lip as each one hits just the right spot. Steve pins his forehead to hers, keeping their gaze locked and she feels somehow more exposed than she had the night before. He strokes her cheek and his thumb swipes over her mouth, pulling her bottom lip from between her teeth. She tightens her legs around him and stretches her neck to brush her lips to his. “Faster,” she begs finally, a hushed plea against his mouth.

To her relief, he complies and quickens his pace, but keeps his eyes on hers. She snaps her hips to meet him while her pulse begins to race again, and her limbs feel like there’s a fire burning beneath her skin. Another wave of pleasure crests through her body and breaks with a sob at the back of her throat and Steve is kissing her again, kissing her and telling her how good she is, how beautiful and perfect she is while she clenches around him until he finally comes, a whisper of her name on his lips.

They stay locked together, foreheads damp with sweat and still touching while the room fills with the sounds of their hushed breathing and gentle kisses passed between them.

It’s later, when they’ve both cleaned up and are back in bed, with Darcy on her side and Steve curled around her, that he says, “I don’t want to leave you.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she opens her eyes to look at the moonlight splashed on the wall, the pile of their clothes tossed on the floor there, tangled together like their legs under the covers. She swallows hard and wets her lips. Forces a half-smile in the dark. “So, don’t.”

She hears the way he huffs out a brief smile, can picture the way his lips twitch upward on the right side. He kisses her shoulder, then moves her hair to kiss her ear and her cheek. “Okay,” he says softly. “I won’t.”

It's a pretty lie. Beautifully impossible.

He settles back down beside her, pulling her in a little closer than before. Darcy stays awake, staring at their clothes while he falls asleep, afraid that if she says anything else, she’ll start to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One line of credit to that 90's sitcom Dharma&Greg of all things, and an invitation to fight anyone who thinks that Steve wouldn't have some old school gangster rap on his playlist.


	3. Chapter 3

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when she wakes up, it’s in an empty bed. Her heart seizes for a moment before she hears a low murmur from the next room—the sound of Steve trying to keep his voice down.

Darcy knows she shouldn’t be listening, but it’s not her fault he chose the bathroom and left the door partway open. She can hear nearly everything he’s saying when the words bounce off the tiled walls.

“It’s fine, Nat,” he’s saying as she rolls onto her back. There’s a pause before he says, tightly, “Does it matter if it isn’t?” Another pause and Darcy presses her lips together, studying a crack she’s never noticed in the ceiling. “Understood,” Steve clips. “I’ll be there.”

She doesn’t bother pretending to be asleep when the door squeaks as he returns to the bedroom. The bed dips and Steve sits to face her, his hip pressed against hers, his hand planted on her far side. “Hey,” he says softly. His face is unreadable.

His other hand reaches over to touch her cheek; she turns her head to kiss his palm. “Not as good a morning as yesterday?” she asks tentatively.

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “Not exactly. Our—uh,” he clears his throat, “our timetable was moved up,” he says finally. “I have to leave earlier than I thought.”

Something drops in her stomach and she feels her forehead fold. “How much earlier?” They're supposed to have the whole day together. He isn't supposed to be in Guadalajara until ten o’clock that night.

“Nat gave me two hours before I have to leave to get to the LZ.”

“Two hours?” she repeats faintly. As soon as she says it, a lump rises in her throat and the ache that opens up in her chest feels too familiar. Inevitable.

Oh.

She was never going to be ready to let him go. Two hours or two hundred more, it was never going to be enough time.

_Oh._

“I’m sorry,” he says. His lips turn downward as his thumb brushes her cheek again.

It’s her turn to shake her head. “No, don’t be,” she insists. “It’s okay.” She pulls herself up to sit, keeping the sheets gathered under her arms. “Do you want me to make some coffee?”

“Only if you’re going to drink some.” He runs a hand over his face. He looks tired. A different kind of tired than he has the past two nights. “I should probably take a shower.”

She manages a small smile before she touches his face and pushes her fingers into his hair. “How about I get the coffee started,” she says, pulling his attention back to her. “And then I’ll join you.”

Steve kisses her slowly and pulls away with a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That sounds good.”

The water is running, and the bathroom is filling with steam by the time she’s set her coffee pot to brew for two. Darcy drops her light robe and opens the door to slide inside, where Steve’s hair is wet, and he already smells like her shampoo.

He kisses her when she steps under the stream, the water soaking her hair while a few errant drops slid down her face, coming between her mouth and his. His hands stay where they landed at her waist, keeping her close as her lips part beneath his. Her own hands slide up his chest, about to twist together behind his neck and keep him kissing her when he pulls back and, without saying anything, turns them so she’s out of the spray and then turns her again to face away from him.

She’s about to protest and turn back but she sees his hand grab her shampoo bottle from the corner of her eye. And then his fingers are in her hair, gently massaging her scalp, and anything she wants to say comes out more like a sigh as her eyes close and her head falls back. The bubbles that slip over her curves smell like strawberries and vanilla and somehow sweeter than anytime she’s washed her own hair before. Steve’s thumbs swipe at the cords of tendons at the base of her skull and then up and into her hair where he stops and puts just the right amount of pressure on her temples, right where all her headaches originate.

It feels too soon when he moves them again so she can rinse, but as the foam is washed from her hair, Steve’s hands keep moving. He’s rubbing her neck and her shoulders, banishing knots she didn’t even know she had until she can roll her head from one side to the other without any of her usual, lingering tension.

Steve stays behind her and his hands span her waist before they move upward to cup her breasts. She smothers a purr of encouragement between her lips as he kisses her neck and rolls her nipples between his fingers. His kisses move up her neck and Darcy arches her back as he bites down on her ear. He’s already hard when he pulls her even closer and drags one hand down her belly and slips his fingers between her legs.

He doesn’t waste any time, pulling a moan from her closed lips when he sucks on her earlobe and dips his fingers into her center, spreading the arousal he finds there over her clit. It’s practically unfair that he knows her so well, so fast, that he can have her gasping for breath with just a few strokes of his fingers. But as he circles her clit hard and fast and her hand slams against the wall to brace herself as she comes all over his fingers, she doesn’t care if it’s fair or not.

She’s still blinking spots from her eyes when he turns her around and seals his lips to hers. His hand holds her face while his tongue slips against hers and she reaches for him, pumping him slowly in the small space between them. “More,” she demands when he doesn’t make a move to keep going. Her breathing is shallow, the word comes out like more of a whisper than she intends, but she pulls back from the kiss he’s about to deliver to meet his eyes. “Please, Steve,” she says, not relenting from the slow, rhythmic movement of her hand. “I need—”

He cuts her off with another kiss and she’s grateful. Because she doesn’t know how she was going to end that sentence. She needs him…she needs more…she needs to know he’s not going to forget all of this when he leaves again. She needs to know this isn’t the last time she’s ever going to feel him inside her. She needs everything to be different so he can stay with her.

It doesn’t matter. Whatever she would have said dies between their lips as Steve’s hands grab onto her hips and he hoists her up against the tile, turning them again so the water hits his back. She’s waiting for the brush of his cock against her folds, waiting for him to groan when he pushes into her, but he holds back for another long moment, pulling away from her kiss to press his forehead to hers. “You’re sure?”

She nods quickly. “Yes,” she promises, because the condoms were a good idea, but she still takes daily birth control for a whole laundry list of reasons. “I’m sure,” she says out loud and it seems like that’s what he’s waiting to hear because in the next moment, he holds her hard against the wall and thrusts up and into her. Darcy’s legs wrap tight around him and she pulls his face to hers, lowering her lips onto his.

His fingers sink into her ass, pulling her down with every hard, patient thrust of his hips. She’s swallowing the sounds he’s making when she opens his mouth beneath hers, stroking his tongue and savoring the groans and grunts coming from his throat. Her nails dig into his back when he shifts her down the wall a few inches and his next thrust drags his cock exactly where she wants it.

Part of her wants to grip him tighter and tell him to go hard and fast because she knows he can make her come again, but the rest of her wants this to last as long as possible. So she lets him keep his slow, steady pace while she memorizes the taste of his tongue, maps the dips and ridges of the muscles in his back and shoulders with her fingertips, tries to tell herself this won’t be the last time. Tries not to think that this pace he’s set is deliberate, that there’s a low hum of desperation in the way they’re moving together, as if trying to commit as much of each other to memory as they can.

When she pulls back for a breath, he kisses her neck, sucking on the pulse he finds hammering beneath her jaw and she clenches around him, drawing her legs tighter around his waist. He hisses against her skin and she does it again, moaning in gratitude when he starts to move faster. Between the angle and the speed and the way Steve is groaning into her neck, it’s not long before another orgasm snakes up her spine. It catches her off guard with a sound like a yelp that Steve smothers against her lips with another deep kiss that leaves her dizzy.

She’s still clenching, fluttering around him when she urges him on with a jolt of her hips in the little space he’s given her to move between him and the wall. He slams into her harder, moving faster and gripping her tighter until the edge of her release blends into the start of his and he sobs in relief when he can finally slow his relentless thrusts. She keeps her legs tight around him while he throbs and spills into her.

They’re both breathing hard when he pulls out and sets her down. Her legs are weak and she’s grateful he keeps his arms around her while they rinse off in the water that’s gone lukewarm.

By the time they’re drinking coffee at her kitchen table, they’re both dressed, and Darcy has no idea how long it’s been since he hung up with Natasha. His bag is packed and she’s fighting the urge to be sick every time she looks at it, sitting by the door, awaiting his departure.

She doesn’t trust herself to say anything important, and Steve doesn’t seem to want to talk either. He’s laced their fingers together on one hand so she can still drink her coffee and his thumb is tracing gentle strokes and designs along her palm. She finally brings herself to open her mouth when the ticking of the clock in the kitchen starts to sound more like a bomb than anything else. “I’m glad you came,” she says softly, looking down at their fingers.

When she looks up, his expression his hard to read. His eyes are downcast, and he doesn’t meet her gaze until she drops her head and forces him to. He offers her a sad, tired half-smile and a little shake of his head. “I can’t—” he stops and starts again. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Darcy.”

The lump she’s been forcing down all morning rises swiftly and unforgivingly in her throat. “Steve—”

“And I _want_ to ask you to wait for me,” he says, talking over anything she might be able to bring herself to say. “I want to know that you’ll be here, and you won’t—” he falters.

She swallows hard. “I won’t what?” she asks when he doesn’t keep going. “You want to know that I won’t…”

The corner of his jaw squares as he closes his eyes. There’s a roughness to his voice when he speaks again. “You won’t…say anyone else’s name the way you’ve been saying mine,” he shakes his head and rushes on, “and I know that’s not fair to ask because I can’t promise you anything in return—”

“I won’t,” she says, cutting him off. He looks up at her again; his eyes are glassy. “I won’t say anyone else’s…” she trails off softly, her brow furrowed in determination. “Because I won’t feel this way about anyone else—”

“Darcy…”

“I won’t,” she repeats herself. “I know I won’t.” He’s shaking his head, dropping his eyes again and she gets up, depositing herself in his lap so he’s forced to look up at her as her arms go around his shoulders. “I’ve waited my whole life to feel this way about _anyone_ ,” she says, dismayed when her voice cracks on the last word. “So, you can ask me to wait for you or tell me not to and I’m going to do the same thing no matter what.”

He closes his eyes again in a long blink as his hand comes up to hold her face. She leans into his touch. “You said—when we first met—you said if we were meant to say what we really wanted to say—”

“Stupid things,” she reminds him softly. Because whatever they say to each other now _will_ be stupid. Promises made with no way to know if they could keep them. Wishes for different lives or worlds or circumstances.

His lips twitch in a brief smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Stupid things.”

“I said if we were supposed to say them that we’d see each other again,” she finishes his thought for him. “And we did.”

“I love you,” he says. The words are blunt and slam into her chest like a freight train. “I shouldn’t,” he goes on, not taking his eyes from hers. “I shouldn’t say that, and I probably shouldn’t have come here because you deserve so much more than I can give you but…” his throat bobs as he swallows. “But I love you, Darcy,” he says again, gentler this time, almost like an apology. “And I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk out of this house not knowing if I’m ever going to see you again.”

She laces her fingers behind his head and drops her forehead against his. “So, don’t,” she says softly, repeating her words from last night. His brows dip together in confusion. “Don’t walk out not knowing if you’re ever going to see me again. Promise me that you will.”

“Darcy—” he breathes out her name again amidst a weary sigh. “I can’t promise that.”

“Yes, you can, Steve,” she insists gently. “If you love me, you can promise me this isn’t the last time we’re ever going to see each other. And I—” her breath hitches again. “I can promise that I’ll be here when you come back and I won’t—” she shakes her head, stubbornly ignoring the tears trying to rise in her throat. “I won’t ever feel this way about anyone else. I promise.”

When he pulls her down to kiss her, she can’t tell if it’s his tears or hers on her cheeks.

He doesn’t say goodbye. No ‘see you later’ or ‘take care’ when his car pulls up. He doesn’t tell her he loves her again either, just kisses her forehead lets his fingers brush down the length of her arm as he pulls away.

She doesn’t watch him leave. She keeps her eyes closed until she hears the door shut and the car outside drives off. The moment she opens her eyes, she wishes she hadn’t. Her little house, which had been _home_ only a minute ago, feels suddenly empty and impersonal and everywhere she looks now something reminds her of Steve.

It doesn’t stop reminding her of Steve. When she sets fresh flowers on the table a week later or curls up on the couch to watch a movie days after that. Every night she falls asleep burying her face in the pillow he used until she can’t smell him anymore.

It’s enough to make her want to leave again. To pack up what little is actually hers and try again somewhere else, somewhere her heart doesn’t sting every time she pours herself a drink or listens to the radio in her car. But she has a contract to fulfil at the end of summer, she reminds herself every time her eyes stray to the suitcase at the top of her closet. She has a job. She has friends here. She doesn’t _want_ to leave again.

And she promised him she wouldn’t. She promised him she’d be _there_ when he came back. _When_ he came back. She promised him because she wants it to be a 'when' and not an 'if.'

So she waits.

And she worries.

And every night, while she goes to the beach to watch the ocean swallow the sun, she wonders if she should have told him she loves him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more one-shot in this series because I can't leave things this angsty and up in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Thoughts?


End file.
